


and scatter the sky with my blazing heart

by mintpearlvoice



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dreamsharing, F/F, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-27 00:38:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18728143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintpearlvoice/pseuds/mintpearlvoice
Summary: After Catra falls at Shadow Weaver's hands, all Adora cares about is getting revenge on the Horde. Even the presence of her two best friends isn't helping her cope with feelings of grief and failure.Then the Rebellion makes an unexpected discovery in the Fright Zone's oubliette...





	1. my hands are flames seeking you

“You have failed me for the last time, Adora,” Shadow Weaver snarled, stalking towards her over the Horde catwalks. Magic seethed around her finger-claws. “I gave you everything. I believed in you. I loved you when no one else could. And still, you fail me. You fail everyone.”

“… not going to fail,” Adora whispered at the far side of the catwalk. Standing wasn’t realistic. Not with wounds like these, not without the Sword; anyone without her training would have succumbed long ago to the poison that burned under her skin, made even breathing feel like climbing an entire mountain. Still, she fought to push herself up onto her hands and knees. “Won’t let them down…”

“Let who down, you pathetic little girl? There’s no one else here. None of your friends are coming to save you. You are alone, and you will die alone.” The power that surrounded her was swirling into a molten vortex of dark, blinding intensity. Shadow Weaver, readying herself for a blow powerful enough to wipe out any trace of the girl who had once held She-Ra’s sword. She raised her hand-

“No, she’s not!” Catra yelled, hurling herself down off an upper balcony. She landed on the catwalk in a neat somersault, She-Ra’s sword glinting in her hands, and tossed the blade to Adora. “I won’t let you hurt her.” And, with her own claws out and a growl of fury, she charged at Shadow Weaver.

“For the Honor of Grayskull,” Adora called with the last of her strength, and felt new strength surge into her as she transformed. This was what she had always dreamed of, what she was meant for: her and Catra fighting side by side.

“You fool!” Shadow Weaver cried, letting out a burst of dark magic-

And Catra tumbled from the catwalk, surrounded by a nimbus of garnet fire, the scent of burnt fur and an agonized scream following her down. Instantly, Adora was at the edge, reaching for her. For just a second, Catra’s hand was warm in hers, her grip steady- and then the pain overwhelmed her and she tumbled into unconsciousness. Tumbled from Adora’s grasp.

She hit the metal below, her small body crumpled, and did not move.

“No,” Adora whispered, her chest tight and aching. But she still raised her sword to block Shadow Weaver’s next blow- still got to her feet. The Rebellion was depending on her. Catra had given her a second chance. A chance that she would fight to honor.

“No!” Adora yelled, bolting awake. Her heart pounded as she stared at her trembling hands. There was a jagged scratch down the center of her palm from Catra’s claws. The medics of the Rebellion, when they’d drawn the poison from her blood, had offered her magical healing for that cut as well. She’d refused even a bandage, and would do anything to make sure that it would scar.

She’d always assumed that Catra had fought so hard to get her back out of hatred. Wanting to see her former friend suffer, to see Shadow Weaver’s golden girl be finally brought low. In that moment, when Catra had leapt to her defense, fully prepared to give her life, she’d realized the truth: Catra had thought she was rescuing her from the evil Rebellion. Had only ever wanted to stand by her side once more.

If only she’d realized earlier that Catra had wanted to protect her all along. If only she’d been able to stop the Horde from tearing them apart. She’d come so close to failing the Rebellion, but it was failing as a friend that had hurt most. (And maybe friend wasn’t quite the right word for what they were to each other, what the bond between them had started to become in those last months of training… but now it didn’t matter, because she would never know.)

Footsteps in the hallway outside. The door burst open, and Glimmer, wearing a floaty purple babydoll nightgown, and Bow, in turquoise-and-violet button-down jammies, ran into her room.

“Hey, we heard you screaming,” Bow said carefully, sitting on the bed. “Another nightmare?”

“Yeah,” Adora said quietly, not looking at them. Scratched at her palm.

Glimmer sat on her other side, her soft hands enveloping Adora’s in a way that prevented further scratching. “If you want to talk about it, we’re here.”

“She was my everything, Glimmer,” Adora whispered, trying not to cry. “Even when I had no one else, when we thought we were worthy of nothing… we always had each other. We’d take each other’s punishments, steal food rations for each other, wake each other up from nightmares- and just for a moment, we were on the same side again, and it was all I’d ever wanted.”

Glimmer nodded.  “I know she meant a lot to you.”

Her hands were tight fists gripping the blanket; she couldn’t cry in front of them, couldn’t look weak. “Yeah,” she whispered, not daring to look at her friends.

Bow’s hand on her shoulder, archer’s calluses warm. “Adora, it’s okay to cry when you’re sad. We’re not going to look down on you.” From the gentleness in his eyes when she looked up, she knew he meant it.

“Thanks,” Adora wanted to say. But as soon as she opened her mouth, she had already collapsed into uncontrollable sobs. Her friends stayed by her side: Glimmer letting Adora cling to the softness of her body, Bow saying soothing phrases and stroking her back. The grief didn’t ebb- maybe it never would- but her crying eventually ended, like a rainstorm giving way to faint light through the clouds, and she blew her nose in Glimmer’s handkerchief.

“We’re going to get back at them,” Bow said, his voice firm with courage. “For Catra, and for Glimmer’s dad, and for everyone and everything else the Horde took from Etheria.”

The fact that this long war might soon be coming to an end consoled her. Even after such a devastating loss, she could still lose herself in the flow of battle, in planning and tactics and leading her troops.

Adora nodded, rolling up her nightgown’s sleeves. “Hell _yeah_ we are.”


	2. balance myself upon a broken world

“Stop being defiant and open your mind to me, Catra. Through your thoughts, I’ll be able to track Adora’s mental signature and predict her attacks,” Shadow Weaver said, frustration in her voice.

Catra was splayed on her back on the dungeon floor, while Shadow Weaver lounged in a plain wooden chair. There were no bars in the oubliette, just a long metal spiral staircase with no railings winding up to the light. Time and time again, Catra had tried to climb it, ended up tumbling to the ground or sprawled across the stairs. The Horde only used this place for people who were already too weak to make it out by themselves. It was where the most dangerous of prisoners, those who’d angered Hordak most, were sent to die.

She could take some amount of pride in that, at least. The fact that she was dangerous enough for so brutal a death.

Her limbs twitched and shook uncontrollably, both from the icy cold and the aftershocks of being bombarded with magic; the last time she’d tried to stand up, to look Shadow Weaver in the eye with some modicum of dignity, she’d nearly blacked out from exhaustion and hunger. But at least she could defy Shadow Weaver’s will with the strength of her own, and she could still talk. “Never. I’ll never betray her. Especially not to you… never to you…” A cough ripped at her chest, and then another. Every convulsion slammed her limbs against the floor, just one more note of pain in a miserable symphony.

Shadow Weaver smirked. “How much more can you take before your body simply gives out on you? You were never as strong as Adora. You won’t last much longer. You must know that.”

Gasping for air, she fought to catch her breath. At last she managed to croak out furious words: “I’d rather die.”

“Then perish, you pathetic beast-“ and slammed her foot down, knocking Catra’s head into the dungeon’s stone floor. In the moments before she passed out, Shadow Weaver was kneeling beside her, raking her claws down Catra’s unprotected arms. She couldn’t even breathe enough to scream.

Almost a week had passed since then, and all the robots had been bringing her was water. Less and less of it each day. But she’d sworn to die before she broke, and she meant every word.


	3. the soft brightness which is your soul

Adora had dueled Shadow Weaver to the death on top of the tallest castle of Hordak’s castle, while Hordak himself had been destroyed by a wave of magic created by the powers of every princess. The war was over. But there was still so much work to do. Adora had spent two days clearing landmines from the area around the Fright Zone, as well as helping the cleanup force disable the hidden traps set around the Horde’s base. It was repetitive, backbreaking work- and Adora threw herself into it with all her might. She didn’t even sleep or eat until someone made her. Clearing away landmines meant not thinking. Not having to think. If she could just stay busy with one task after another, she could tiptoe around the gaping hole that Catra’s absence had left in the world.

When she wasn’t busy, like now, the devastation crept in. She sat on a deactivated tank, staring listlessly at her own solemn She-Ra reflection in the sword. Glimmer and Bow were helping direct freed prisoners; she was grateful that they hadn’t asked her to help. She didn’t have the energy to smile and be strong for all those strangers. At least her friends would understand if she was never able to smile again.

“Okay,” Glimmer said with a sigh, wiping her forehead. She picked up her clipboard from a pile of rubble and checked off a box with a shimmery pen. “So: that’s all the prisoners out of their cells and given basic medical attention, all the Horde soldiers taken into sorcerer custody to be unbrainwashed, and all the kid Horde trainees on their way back to their families, along with people who’ll be able to help them. Are we heading back to Bright Moon yet?”

“Not all the prisoners.” That was Kyle, who’d been badly injured when Hordak had uncovered that he was spying for the Rebellion. He was wrapped in a fluffy blanket, three people’s coats, and at least two flower crowns.

“What do you mean?” Adora asked cautiously, sheathing her sword as she de-transformed.

Even though there was no way he could be cold under so many donated garments, Kyle still shivered, hugging himself. “There’s someone in the Oubliette. Late at night, sometimes I’d see Shadow Weaver heading down there, and then I’d hear screaming. It was so horrible, Adora! It didn’t even sound human. Like something being ripped apart.” Those last words were barely a whisper before he ducked down into the blanket pile.

Glimmer crept over to Adora. “Any idea on who… or what… might be down there?”

Even as a former Captain-to-be, she genuinely didn’t know. “Genetic engineering? A realistic cyborg? The only way to find out is probably to go there ourselves.”

Glimmer looked frightened for a moment, then stood up a little straighter and nodded like the leader she was. “Well, then, I’m ready if you are.”

 

The dark staircase seemed to spiral down forever. Glimmer held onto She-Ra’s skirt with one hand, conjured up a ball of light with the other, but even her power seemed to only illuminate a single step at a time.

“Were you ever down here?” Glimmer whispered. Her voice echoed eerily. “I mean, as a Force Captain.”

Adora shook her head. She was navigating mostly by the light from her sword; apparently being She-Ra could strengthen her senses as well, when need be. “No one except our leaders had clearance to go down here.”

They hit solid ground, nearly stumbled; Adora steadied herself against the wall. Whatever was down here, she reminded herself, it had to be an enemy of the Horde. And “the enemy of my enemy is my friend,” right? No matter how dangerous or inhuman it was.

 “…ugh…” A guttural low noise from out of the darkness, half groan and half growl. As Glimmer shuddered and clung to her, Adora raised her sword and crept closer, her footfalls almost silent on the stone.

It seemed person-shaped, at least. A small, angular figure, emaciated and still. The patterned shadows of a protruding ribcage. The translucent folds of an improvised loincloth. Not a weapon, a captive, as far as she could tell. A captive who the Horde had invested a lot of effort into torturing, judging from the streaks of dried blood on the floor. But was this person still alive?

“Glimmer, light,” she said quietly. As she examined the stranger, her friend’s glow brightened; she could see their whole body, not just details.

She could see-

“No,” Adora breathed, dropping to her knees, her heart pounding. Frantically, she fumbled to find a pulse. “No no no- Catra- please-“

In the light, Catra looked even worse. She’d always been skinny and wiry; now it was clear that she’d been starved to death, every bone prominent and skeletal hollows in her cheeks. The deep wounds on her arms and legs, clearly made by Shadow Weaver’s claws and ceremonial dagger, gaped open; they were surrounded by a nimbus of violet light that crept under her patchy fur.  

Her hair was too matted for Adora to find a clear neck pulse. Adora could barely breathe as she pressed her fingers against Catra’s wrist.

There. There it was. Too fast, too weak, but it was there. Even after weeks of torture and who knows how long without food, Catra was actually alive.

Glimmer gasped, her light flickering. “Is that…”

“Yeah,” Adora whispered, pressing her face into Catra’s fur, letting the softness absorb her tears. Catra smelled like sweat and mold and blood, but it was her. Adora gathered Catra’s limp, fragile body into her lap, hyperventilating as she caught her breath. Catra wasn’t dead- she was alive, she was here, she could still be saved. She unfastened her cloak one-handed and wrapped it around Catra. Her own heat would help keep her warm, but every layer would help, and she didn’t want everyone seeing Catra like this.  

“Nngh..” Catra stirred a little, frowning and whimpering as she tried to bat the cloak away.

“It’s okay, kitten.” Adora stroked her tangled hair back from her face. “I’m here. You’re safe now, I promise.”

Her mismatched eyes flickered open, unfocused, as she batted weakly at Adora’s arms. “Won’t tell you anything! Not even if you imitate her. You’re not the real Adora, never gonna betray her, never, kill me first…” Then her gaze fixed on something behind Adora, and she gave a tiny, terrified moan. At once Glimmer spun around, her hands blazing- but there was nothing and no one there, not even a shadow creature.

“No- stop-“ Catra’s wounds crackled with Shadow Weaver’s magic, and she screamed out loud, convulsing in Adora’s arms.

Adora’s jaw clenched. She’d seen this before- curses that lasted even if Shadow Weaver was wounded or out of range. It made sense that her power was torturing Catra from beyond the grave, and it explained why Catra didn’t even know she was safe, that the long nightmare of her imprisonment was finally over. She knew better than anyone how dark magic could cloud your perceptions and make enemies of friends.

“Should I get help?” Glimmer asked, shifting from foot to foot.

Adora shook her head. Catra was always so proud- she’d be furious at anyone except Adora seeing her this helpless, this weak. “I can handle it.” Years ago, she’d had to make wild guesses at how to unleash her healing powers. Now they leapt to her fingers instinctively. As Catra thrashed fruitlessly, mumbling incoherent words of panic, Adora laid one hand on her chest, the other on the hilt of her sword. She imagined her body as an open channel of light, the power flowing through her and into her friend. Her hands glowed. The red-violet tint ebbed from Catra’s wounds, tendrils of evil magic shrinking and withdrawing. Catra’s body stiffened, hands curling into fists, as if the departure of Shadow Weaver’s magic was hurting her too. She let out an agonized breath and didn’t breathe back in.

Come on, Catra. You’re stronger than this, Adora thought. Stay with me! She focused all her concentration on keeping her mind open, letting the power of the First Ones flow through her. Picturing the woman she loved whole and healed once more. The effort exhausted her, but she had to keep going.

“I gotcha,” Glimmer said, a hand on her shoulder, and the gold of her own power merged with Glimmer’s gentle violet, sweeping over Catra like a cocoon. It glowed brightly for a few moments, then ebbed like a wave. When her eyes had adjusted once more, the magical infection had vanished.

Catra stirred slightly, her eyelids fluttering.

“Hey, kitten,” Adora murmured, tracing her cheek. She wanted to hold Catra in her arms just like this forever. They’d spent too much time too far apart. “You awake?”

This time, she seemed alert and present, if not fully awake. “…Adora?” she rasped.

“I’m here- we’re here to rescue you- and people are roasting marshmallows on what used to be Shadow Weaver right now,” Adora told her, grinning through her tears.

“…love you,” Catra whispered. She didn’t even seem aware of what she said, as if it had just slipped out. She hugged Adora tightly, nuzzling against her chest, before lapsing back into unconsciousness with her arms still wrapped around Adora’s shoulders.

Glimmer teleported them up the winding staircase and back outside. As they headed towards the big turquoise medical tent where a lot of the Horde’s prisoners, as well as warriors hurt in the battle, were being treated, Glimmer stopped and said, “Hey, Adora, what’s that noise? It sounds like she’s having trouble breathing?”

For a second Adora had no idea what Glimmer meant. Then she felt, rather than heard it: a steady rumble against her chest, loud as a cricket chirping right when you’d finally gotten to bed. When they were in the Horde together, Catra had jumped down onto Adora’s bunk, curled up by her feet, and made that same noise. “She’s purring,” Adora said, beaming. “That’s the noise cats make when they’re happy.”

Even in her sleep, even though she was still in so much pain, Catra evidently knew that she was safe.  


	4. not only mine the sharpness of this joy

Catra never seemed to fall fully asleep on the way back to Bright Moon, or even afterwards; more a light doze from which she jerked awake, tail lashing furiously, ears flat to her head. Glimmer arranged for her to be stashed in a gardener’s cottage on the edge of the castle grounds, away from both the other ex-prisoners and civilians who might seek payback.

When one of the castle healers administered IV fluids and stitched the largest cuts, she just lay there, trembling, uncharacteristically and unnervingly silent.

No big deal, Adora told herself, stroking Catra’s fuzzy hand. (She could pinch the skin there, and it would stay tented. There was only so fast they could rehydrate her, apparently.) She was always quiet around strangers, always sulked at being “clumsy enough” or “careless enough” to need medical treatment. She’d perk up when they were alone, right?

But she didn’t.

The sun filtering through the trees. An updraft of fireflies. Purple sunset, pink dawn. When Adora spooned a flavorful meat paste into her mouth, she’d swallow; she could sip broth on her own, if it was offered to her. She hadn’t lost any more weight since her rescue, thankfully. She just wouldn’t talk. Or go the fuck to sleep.

A bowl of spring water and lavender-scented liquid soap. “C’mon, I know you don’t like being that dirty, and I’m guessing you don’t feel like cleaning yourself with your tongue, either.” Even though Catra always threw a tantrum at the prospect of soap and water, she sat meekly as Adora cleaned her off. She didn’t even complain when Adora washed behind her ears.

“I miss you, you know that?” Adora said quietly, drying her off. Even though Catra was physically here, it seemed like Shadow Weaver’s magic had done something that even the sword of She-Ra couldn’t fix. Maybe the palace healers were right, and she’d just have to give it time.

She’d barely slept in the past few days; her own room was too far away. It would probably save effort to just collapse next to Catra on the canopy bed. Like they’d done years ago, before anything had come between them. Back when they thought that nothing ever could.

Adora opened her eyes in a warped version of the Fright Zone. The walls undulated like funhouse-mirror reflections. Outside the viewports, there was void like a night sky. Certain details stood out: a capital C etched into the paint of a rafter, the grating of a vent. Her footsteps made no sound, even when she stomped her boots. Those details told her it wasn’t her dream.

“Where is Catra?” she asked the dream.

The hallway shimmered like a mirage, shifted, reformed. It looked like no one had come here for many years. None of the computer terminals were lit up. Thick spiderwebs stretched from one wall to another, and patches of rust had sprung into existence like mold on bread. Normally, everything in the Horde’s buildings was clean and sterile. Here, it looked as old as a First Ones ruin.

She found Catra in the prison block, a forcefield containing the entrance to her cell.

Catra sat on the concrete bench with her knees hugged to her chest, staring listlessly at a holoscreen. “Run clip,” she said.

The screen showed a memory from Catra’s perspective: her fellow squadron members arresting a prisoner. The prisoner’s little girl cried and clung to her. “Mommy, no!”

“For fuck’s sake,” Catra had said, and rolled her eyes.

Catra’s tail flicked back and forth. “Run clip again.”

The same sequence of images: but this time, instead of the prisoner’s child, it was a tiny young Adora whose eyes filled with tears. As Adora watched, Catra replayed more of her memories over and over, sometimes changing things to put herself or a friend in the shoes of the people the Horde was treating with cruelty. This was where Catra had been all these days. Trapped in her own recollections. Trapped by her guilt.

She reached out a hand to touch the forcefield, willing to fight through the pain if it meant comforting her- “This isn’t a forcefield,” Adora said out loud, putting her hand through the red light that didn’t crackle or sting or burn.

Catra shrugged one-shouldered, not looking up. “So? Maybe I deserve to stay here. All those things I did for the Horde, all those people I hurt… at least if I stay here, no one else is gonna be collateral damage. I’m not a good person, Adora. Figured you might know that by now,” she said with a self-depreciating smirk. Her casual tone concealed the devastation and pain that Adora knew lay beneath.

She pushed through the fizzing light barrier and stomped in.

That got Catra’s attention. “What’re you doing?”

“I get that I can’t use the sword to change how you feel about your past or about yourself. Because some things aren’t meant to be healed with magic… that would be like taking away your free will, even if you’re going to use your free will to shut out the world so you don’t accidentally see something that makes you smile.” She sat down on the edge of the bench. “But I can stay with you. I can show you you’re not alone, and that there are people who care about you.”

“Really?” She looked skeptical.

The holoscreen changed, showing an image of Shadow Weaver looming over a young Catra. “You foolish, inhuman girl. Surely you understand the reason anyone lets you follow them around is that they feel sorry for you? For your obvious deficiencies? If you actually think you’re socially skilled enough to make real friends, you’re even less intelligent than I thought.”

“Really really,” Adora said. “For starters, the healers say Scorpia is going to wake up any day now. And sure, Entrapta’s kind of on house arrest, but they’ve only got thirty guards on her. We used to sneak past that much all the time.”

Catra nodded, still seeming dubious.

“And… me. I mean, I care about you differently than they do- not that I don’t care about you, because I do. A lot. I mean really a lot.” A blush heated Adora’s cheeks. She was about ten million times more comfortable risking her life in battle than talking about such delicate feelings. IF her feelings were a physical object, it would be a spider’s woven lace, and her swordswoman’s calluses would tear it to shreds. “Whether or not you believe in fate, in destiny, I think we met each other for a reason. Even when I thought I wasn’t allowed to have feelings besides loyalty to the Horde, I, well… liked you. Like-liked you. I, umm. Love you. Always have, always will. Even before it was something I put into words.”

Catra’s expression was impossible to read, but her tail stood straight up like an exclamation point, and her eyes were huge.

“You saved me,” Adora said, and meant it. “Not just from Shadow Weaver in that one battle, but my whole life, my whole childhood, from becoming the person she wanted me to be. So if you want to stay here for a while? If the outside world is maybe freaking you out a little bit right now. Then that’s okay. As long as you want me, I’ll stay. I’m just glad I get to do something nice back.”

The holoscreen, with its background murmur of Shadow Weaver’s insults, shut down and vanished. The force field went dark.

And Catra reached out- and took Adora’s hand.

 

Adora woke up to Catra draped over her like a fuzzy blanket and swatting her in the face with a paw.

“Hey, Adora,” Catra sing-songed, prodding at her again. “Adoraaaa. Wake up. I’m bored.”

Not entirely healthy, not yet- but smug and self-satisfied and preening. Her infuriating, stubborn, magnificent girl.

“Hey, yourself,” Adora said with a smile.

“Good- been waiting to kiss your stupid unfairly pretty symmetrical face-“ She dove in for a kiss, and the startled, sweetly vulnerable kitty-chirp noise she made when Adora buried a hand in her fur and kissed her back was something worthy of remembering forever.

There was a whole world outside this cottage, and they’d get there eventually. No one would ever separate them again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from this poem by Amy Lowell, chapter title is from another one of her poems:
> 
> You hate me and I hate you  
> And we are so polite, we two!
> 
> But whenever I see you, I burst apart  
> And scatter the sky with my blazing heart.  
> It spits and sparkles in the stars and balls,  
> Buds into roses – and flares, and falls.
> 
> Scarlet buttons, and pale green disks,  
> Silver spirals and asterisks,  
> Shoot and tremble in a mist  
> Peppered with mauve and amethyst.
> 
> I shine in the windows and light up the trees,  
> And all because I hate you, if you please.
> 
> And when you meet me, you rend asunder  
> And go up in a flaming wonder  
> Of saffron cubes, and crimson moons,  
> And wheels all amaranths and maroons.
> 
> Golden lozenges and spades  
> Arrows of malachites and jades,  
> Patens of copper, azure sheaves.  
> As you mount, you flash in the glossy leaves.
> 
> Such fireworks as we make, we two!  
> Because you hate me and I hate you.


End file.
